


Hunting the Once and the Future

by nadineskywalker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-09-01 12:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16765630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadineskywalker/pseuds/nadineskywalker
Summary: Of course myth magic appears for the first time in Britain once Harry has become one of the best MythHunters in the world. And of course Draco is assigned to uncover and fight whatever is happening at Pendragon Castle.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

“Can I get you another round, Sir?” the waiter asked the disheveled looking man who had just finished his fourth Mai Tai. The man had been lazing around the lido deck all day, speaking to no one and seemingly enjoying his solo holiday. The waiter hadn’t realized just how strong those Mai Tais had been as the young man didn’t seem to even realize he was there. 

“Sir?”, he asked again. 

“Sorry, what?” Harry snipped. 

“Would you like another round?” the waiter answered, putting on his best Customer Service Smile.

“Oh, sorry mate. Uh, no, I’m fine, thanks.” Harry said, turning back to the parchment in his hand. 

Harry had been enjoying a well deserved week off at the Lux Cerul Resort and Spa in the Maldives, courtesy of their Ministry for Magic, when an owl had perched itself on Harry’s beach chair. That had been when Harry knew this holiday wouldn’t last long. 

The only place left in the wizarding world that still used owls was the British Ministry for Magic. Literally everywhere else in the world-even the Russians!-had implemented the use of Phloons, or Personal Floo Networks, allowing witches and wizards to Floo one another through conjured floo fire, right at the tip of one’s wand. Not only was it less time consuming but also much neater, Harry thought as the Owl began to hop around on his unfinished breakfast plate. Once he was able to subdue the creature with a bit of leftover bacon and pineapple, he untied the piece of parchment from the bird’s leg. The first thing he noticed was the deep red wax seal, reflecting a simple yet stern “MfM”. That was the final stone on this holiday’s grave; if Kingsley was owling him using the official Minister for Magic seal, it was urgent. And serious. 

“For fuck’s sake”, Harry mumbled. 

Harry hadn’t set foot on British soil in what felt like a lifetime. 

The war had ended, finally. And after his three day nap and a hearty meal at the Burrow, Harry knew in his bones he had to leave. He knew he couldn’t handle the inevitable deification of the Boy Who Lived anymore than he could stand to stay in Grimmauld Place without Sirius. The Weasley’s were about to enter a muddy and engorging grief that Harry knew too well and couldn’t stand to witness his surrogate family trudging through. He had said goodbye to Molly and Arthur with promises to write and keep himself fed, he had hugged Hermione for so long it seemed to last days and the clutching embrace from Ron brought him to tears. They had been a triumvirate for almost a decade, and now it would be the couple and the solitary seeker. But they had all understood, these people had watched the rise and fall of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Boy Who Lied, The Chosen One, The Triumphant One. They knew just as well as he did that Harry, just Harry, could never truly live a life free from his past in England. Their love for him and desire for him to be and remain Harry outweighed their desire to keep him close. 

Saying goodbye to Ginny had been the most...uncomfortable, to say the least. She was furious that he was leaving so soon after the war, so soon after Fred and Lupin and Tonks. So soon after they had finally been given a real chance at their young love. 

“What will Teddy think, Harry! You can’t be another person to just up and leave him!”, Ginny ejected through gritted teeth, “What about us, Harry? The first sign of normalcy, the first sign that we could have a normal life and you decide to leave?”

“It will just be months and months, even years of ‘The Chosen One wipes his nose! The Chosen One takes a piss!’. I’ve done my duty as ‘The Chosen One’ for god’s sake” Harry barked, unable to contain the fear that came with never ridding himself of the life the prophecy had created for him.

In that moment, the life he has imagined, the idea of a future that had gotten him through those dark and cold days in the Forest of Dean, felt like a death sentence more damning than the Prophecy because he would have chosen it for himself. The house, the children, the job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, all would be coated in the thick film of expectation and nostalgia. It would be a life rooted in his past, a past he wanted to leave firmly at his back. Ginny was less understanding than the rest of the Weasley family, and though Harry corresponded with the lot on a weekly basis, even Percy on occasion, he and Ginny hadn’t spoken since. 

What Harry hadn’t told Ginny, or any of the Weasley’s (though Hermione guessed, of course) was that he was also wholly and uniquivacably bent. How was he to explain that to the family that was so sure to add him on as a son-in-law? Of course they would love Harry regardless, being gay wasn’t the issue-it was leaving Ginny and their future behind for good that would so thoroughly gut them, and he just couldn’t do that to them. 

So Harry grabbed his rucksack, extended at the expert hand of Hermione, and stormed out of the Burrow, taking the first International Portkey on offer. 

That had been 15 years ago. 

Having decided he couldn’t possibly open this letter without a stiff drink, even though it was 9 in the morning, he put on his swimming costume and plush robe to head to the Lido deck for a swim and a cocktail. The soft break of the ocean swallowed by the warm and citrusy breeze had been a tonic Harry hadn’t known he needed until he arrived at the resort three days ago, but now it was simply mocking him as he re-read the worn parchment for the upteenth time. 

Harry-  
As the Minister for Magic, I am requesting your presence in my office as soon as possible. It is a matter of the utmost importance. There will be a portkey waiting at the front desk of the Lux Cerul leaving at 3pm this afternoon. 

KS

It was worse than he could have possibly imagined. After his first bracing Mai Tai, he slipped his thumb under the wax seal, shoulders tense and jaw set, anticipating all sorts of horrid phrases that awaited him on the parchment. “We are having a war memorial and would like you to speak” or “We would like to dedicate a monument in your honour, would you do us the great service of sitting for a casting to be done in pure gold?”. Voldemort’s return had even crossed his mind. But the fact the Kingsley had written to him “As the Minister for Magic”, not as a leader in the Order of Phoenix or as one of Harry’s surrogate parents, and with so little detail included, had only meant one thing-Minister Shacklebot was requesting Harry’s professional services. 

Harry had received many Phloon calls with a similar inclination as this letter, Ministers or Presidents of various Magical governments requesting that Harry appear in their offices as soon as possible, as a matter of grave national and sometimes international importance. Some of these men and women were being paranoid or dramatic in the face of the unknown, some were being paranoid and dramatic for good reason. But it had never phased Harry before. He was well trained and well practiced in his craft, there was no case too dangerous or too convoluted. He was the best in his field, a field he had chosen because there hadn’t been the need for services in England like his for nearly a century. It seemed as though that run was over. 

Harry left a generous tip underneath his, what was it? fourth? fifth? Drink and began walking back to his room to find a strong hangover potion and pack up his rucksack, the same one he’s had since he last left the Burrow. 

The hotel room door gave way to his push, Harry stumbling directly towards his potions bag in the bathroom. 

“Why are there so many blasting bottles” Harry slurred, looking for the light yellow hangover potion he knew had to be in there. “Don’t portkey while punched!” he repeated over and over in his head, giggling all the while. Harry unstoppered the bottle, pressing the cool vial to his lips and tipping it back. While hangover potions were Merlin’s gift to earth, the way they literally burned the alcohol out of one’s blood was wholly unpleasant. 

Sober and alert, Harry got to packing. 

In less than five minutes, he was ready to go. He had picked up his potions bag from the beautiful grey marble bathroom being sure to snag the travel sized luxury potions the hotel provided, accio’d his salty swimming costumes from the balcony overlooking the cerulean water, took a quick shower and was ready to go. Harry loved that his whole life could be packed up into a small rucksack in just a few minutes. Of course, when he was using the tent it usually took a bit longer, but he had gotten it down to less than 10 minutes-his goal was eventually 7. His life was simple and it was completely his. 

~*~*~

Draco Malfoy walked through the sterile Ministry corridor towards his office at exactly 7am. Just as he had the morning before and as he had the morning before that and every morning for the past two years. With each step closer to the imposing door with the gold embossed plate reading 

D.L. Malfoy  
Director  
Council for the Preservation of the International Statute of Secrecy, British Division

, Draco stood a little straighter. 

It had been nothing short of a miracle that such a name plate existed. He and his mother had been pardoned during the post-War trials, due in no short order to a rousing letter from Harry Potter as well as testimony from Granger and the Weasel in support of the Golden Boy’s statement. While he was of course grateful to the man, and he has put so much in his letter to him after the trials had finished, he was also deeply horrified that his fate had once again come down to Harry sodding Potter. He never understood why Harry had written that letter for himself or for his mother, but that was in the past. It hadn’t defined his future. Or, well, that’s what he told himself. 

Potter’s letter had been pithy; “When given the chance, right under the nose of Voldemort himself, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had made choices that directly defied Voldemort and had in fact directly aided me. While they may not be my favorite people, I would undoubtedly have died before killing Voldemort. Both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy made the decision to alter my fate once, the fate of the wizarding world in fact, and it is for that reason that I implore, no demand, they be pardoned of all crimes.”

Draco was unsure of exactly what he had done, and even more unsure of what his mother had done, to invoke such a plea from Potter, but he took the second chance with both hands, wringing a life and a future out of his bloodied past. 

After the trials, he and his mother apparated back to Malfoy Manor, intent on acheiving some sort of normalcy once more. Feeling the weeks of holding cell grime seeping into their skin deeper and deeper with each passing moment, they retired to their separate wings for the evening, asking the house elves that were left to bring them dinner to their quarters. As Draco walked back to his childhood room, throught the stone cold passageways that had seen so much violence, he was smacked in the face with remnants of the Dark Lords headquarters. He has assumed the house elves would have cleaned up all of this...carnage. 

“Where had all of the blood come from?” Draco couldn’t help whispering. 

The further he walked into the Manor, the more he saw. How had he missed this in the months and months that the Dark Lord had been inhabiting the Manor? How could he miss the dead bodies of mouthy snatchers slumped against the wall? How could he miss the tortured and mangled bodies of muggles that had fallen victim to one of Dolohov’s drunken tirades? How could he have missed the blood that coated the floors and the drapes and the paintings?

Feeling cold sweat dripping from his temple, his mouth dry as sawdust, he turns around and sprints back to the foyer. There he saw his Mother, holding the only portrait that existed of Lucius, Draco, and herself. It had been an anniversary present from Lucius to Narcissa when Draco was a young boy. It was sticky with drying blood and had deep gashes through the middle, surely the work of Fenrir. 

“This is not the home your father and I built” was all Narcissa said to her son, and with those words they walked back through the Manor doors towards the gate. With a click of her fingers she summoned Snill and Frany, the two remaining house elves in the manor, and with a light flick of her wand and a breathless “Incendio”, Narcissa Malfoy burned the last vestiges of Voldemort’s hold over her and her son’s life to the ground. 

That had been 15 years ago. 

Draco opened the heavy mahogany door to his office, casting a silent Lumos towards to schonces on the wall, an Incendio towards his fireplace and an Initium towards the kettle in the small kitchen that sat behind strong glamours in the corner of his cavernous office. He knew his secretary could bring him tea whenever he asked for it, but there was something bracing about brewing his own cup that made the hassle of constructing and hiding the cozy corner in his otherwise intimidating office quite worthwhile. 

While hanging his coat and stowing his briefcase, Draco noticed a small letter sitting in the middle of his massive desk. He was fastidious about leaving his work space completely devoid of clutter at the end of each day, sometimes staying past midnight to ensure his inbox was empty so that each morning he could face a new day and the new problems it would bring. What’s more, Draco never received correspondence in his office that didn’t come directly from the hand of Lena, his eccentric secretary that he could not possibly function without. Even his personal correspondence was handed to him by the old bat which rarely ended well for Draco. 

“I see Ms. Parkinson has sent another dirgeful missive”, Lena would croon. 

“Are you reading my mail again?! It was one time she sent me a shrieking Howlr! One time! Pansy AND I already apologized for the burn mark!” Draco lamented, snatching the letter from Lena’s stodgy hand. 

Leaving his briefcase and coat forgotten on the floor, Draco inched towards his desk, tenting the graceful fingers of one hand on his leather plotter and tracing the index finger of the other over the burgundy wax seal. 

“What in Merlin’s name does the Minister for Magic want with me?” Draco thought to himself, puzzled beyond words. 

Yes he was a high ranking Ministry official in his own right, but protocol dictated he deal with the Under Secretary for International Magical Cooperation to ensure no political business got in the way of his charge. This could mean one of two things: either Draco was in deep, deep trouble or he was being promoted. There was no in between. 

Director Malfoy-  
I request your presence in my office at precisely 8pm this evening. Carrying this letter will grant you access to the 9th floor. 

Kind Regards, 

KS

Several minutes later, after Draco had memorized the short missive, he tucked the parchment into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and walked over to the kettle. He allowed himself to seep into the routine of his morning cup of earl grey. He shovelled three heaping scoops of earl grey into the teapot, swiping his favorite bone china cup and saucer from the bottom shelf. While his tea steeped, he placed one sugar cube and a splash of milk into the cup, watching the sugar dissolve in the small pool. After exactly five minutes, he poured the fragrant liquid over the sieve, removing it to the saucer, stirring once, twice, thrice with a fine silver spoon, and finally taking his first sip. 

“The British have done little right, but May God Save the Queen for a good cuppa” Draco said to his empty office. He knew this would not be his last cup of the day. Nearly 13 hours lay between him and his appointment. 13 hours during which his mind would wander to the absolute darkest corners of his imagination. Could the Dark Lord be rising again? Surely not, why would Kingsley get him involved? Had there been an allegation against him or his mother? Mother hadn’t stepped foot in England in years and he had been a model wizarding citizen and Ministry employee. But there were still those who only saw his mark and his father’s surname. There was always the possibility Draco was being promoted, he had risen quickly through the office of the Council, arriving earlier and staying later than every peer, turning on the Malfoy charm for all the right people. He was most popular amongst the Continental Ministries and downright adored in the Americas (of course), getting whatever the Under Secretary had asked of him. 

Draco was lost in thought as Lena poked his upper arm once again. 

“Director Malfoy please tell me you are not drunk at 8am!” Lena spat at her boss. 

“What? Why would you think that? What kind of morning greeting is that anyway?”

“Sir, you’ve been staring at your tea cup for 10 minutes, surely something is wrong and we both know I always assume the worst of you” she said, peering over the top of her delicate eye glasses. 

“If you must know, I have an appointment later this evening with the Minister,” his words barely audible. 

Lena stared at Draco with a pregnant pause, simultaneously concerned for her job security and the sanity of the young man sitting in front of her. 

“Right,” she directed, “I shall keep correspondence and interruptions to a minimum. You brush up on your case work and recent accomplishments, scant though they are. I refuse to allow you to jeopardize both our futures due to lack of preparedness.” Lena glided to the door, huffed on the gleaming gold name plate and shined it with the cuff of her sleeve, slamming the door behind her. 

“That woman will be the death of me and my ego,” Draco mused. And with that, he opened up his case files and began to do as the old bat had instructed. 

~*~

Out of sheer habit, Harry landed from the portly in a crouch, assessing his surroundings before making any sudden moves. He saw gleaming black floors and appeared to be in a cylinder of the same material.

“I should have expected that,” Harry thought to himself, realizing he was in an International Arrivals bay in the British Ministry’s portray terminal. He spelled the marble in front of him transparent, taking note of the other occupants of the terminal. Thankfully, due to the late hour, there was one terminal attended witch who was deeply engrossed in the latest issue of Witch Weekly and a lone, aging wizard about to step into a departure bay. Once the old man had disappeared, Harry took his hair out of the bun at the nape of his neck, letting it hang in front of his face to cover his scar. His scar was really the only part of his body, save his eyes, that would identify him as The Boy Who Lived. He had grown another few inches since the Battle, had grown out his hair that he kept tied back, and had spent his first really paycheck getting a Muggle procedure that would eliminate his need for eye glasses. His work also required him to be in top physical condition, a state that he could never claim in his adolescents. And by the amount of witches and wizards who regularly hit on him, he was really quite fit. 

He stalked past the desk of the terminal information desk where the witch didn’t even flinch as he walked past. Adjusting his rucksack higher on his back, Harry began searching for the elevators that would take him to the Minister’s office. He thanked every star in the sky that Kingsley had asked him to come so late in the evening, meaning most employees would be gone by now and the ones who were left wouldn’t care about a lone stranger walking the halls. “Probably an undercover auror or a hit wizard”, they would think to themselves, trying to avoid eye contact. 

After five minutes of walking, Harry found the golden gates of the elevators, stepped onto the marroon carpet and was instantly transported to that day in the Ministry so many years ago. He could smell Ron’s damp clothes and taste the adrenalin on his tongue. His body instantly responded; he separated his feet more, firmly rooting himself into the floor in case he needed to cast quickly. His abdominals tightened, ready to move at a moments notice. His shoulders hunched, his jaw set, his hearing sharpened. 

Harry jumped at the ding that came from the elevator button panel-“Where to, sir?” the buttons asked in unison. This much he remembered, even after all of these years, “Floor Nine, Minister’s office, please,” he panted out. 

Licking his lips and consciously lowering his shoulders, Harry braced himself for whatever was awaiting him in the Minister’s office. He cast a quick tempus, it glowed “20:12” just above his wand. 

Draco had left his office at exactly 7:55pm, knowing it would take him 1 minute to walk to the bank of lifts and, based on his experience traveling around the Ministry, it would take him approximately 2 minutes to arrive at the 9th floor, leaving him 1 minute and thirty seconds to find the Minister’s outer office to which he had asked Lena for directions and another 30 seconds for the Minster’s secretary to alert him to his arrival. The note from Minister Shacklebot say neatly in his breast pocket, allowing him access to the lifts, he hadn’t even needed to speak after the golden grates closed. 

“Floor Nine, Minster for Magic” the buttons crooned, and Draco stepped out of the lift onto the plush red carpet, turning right and then immediately left, just as Lena had instructed. “Then you take another left at the portrait of Minister Percival, he will be the one in the Hippopotamus leather…cloak? garmet? I’m not sure what one would call it but you’ll very clearly see the head of the poor animal” Lena had instructed when explaining Draco’s impending journey through floor 9. “After that, its about 20 paces to a lovely young woman named Hannah Abbott, Minister Shacklebot’s personal secretary, which of course is different than the Secretary to the Minister who is much more organized but constantly smells of moth balls.”

Draco arrived at Hannah’s desk. He and Abbott had seen each other occasionally at Ministry functions, always exchanging a polite hello but never more than that. After 8th year at Hogwarts, all of the students who had returned decided it would be best to overcome their differences seeing as they would be sharing a dormitory. The little kumbay circle had been lead by Granger, of course, and at first Draco had pasted his best Malfoy Malaise on his face to get through it. But after the literal hours of tearful confessions of loss and of fear, Draco opened himself up to the realization that he had been really fucking wrong. It took a few more sessions before he as able to talk, and once he did, he talked for almost an hour. About how afraid he was of Voldemort, about the torture he was subjected to, about the torture he had to witness, of his mother and father, of Pansy. He talked about what the Death Eaters would do to muggles and muggle borns in front of him, how they would taunt him with whisper’s of “You’re next if you aren’t good”. The other students hadn’t realized what it was like inside the Manor for all of those months. Neville even admitted to assuming they were skipping around a bonfire of Muggles every day, drinking and laughing at the pain they were causing. And that was true, but not for everyone, especially not for Draco. After the last scheduled session, Draco apologized to Hermione and Neville, and then to Luna. 

After that, there was a calm and comforting mutual respect amongst the survivors of the war. 

“Oh hello, Draco, Minister Shacklebot is expecting you, you can go on in”, Hannah said, her quill poised above a hand filled piece of parchment. “Thank you, Hannah”, Draco responded with a deep nod of his head. 

Draco stepped past the left side of Hannah’s desk towards the large, forrest green door that he assumed was the Minister’s office. The door hummed with the magical wards that policed those who could enter, making it sound proof and blast proof. There was also a peculiar magical eye sitting above the name plate, Draco felt as though it’s gaze was piercing his skin. 

“Not that door, Draco, the one to the right”, Hannah instructed without looking up from her work. The door to the right was just a door. A nice door, it matched the rich wood paneling of the walls, but it was just a door, It could have lead to a broom closet for all of the splendor it held, but it was as heavily warded as the other. 

Draco placed his hand on the door knob and the light blue wards wrapped around his hand like a vine, up his forearm and shoulder, only stopping at his chest and wrapping around the letter his his pocket. Once the strands fully encased the letter, they pulsed once and disappeared. The door opened with a soft click. 

“Good Evening, Minister”, Draco said firmly. 

The Minister turned around from his bar cart, “Good Evening, Director Malfoy, how are you this evening?”

“Quite well, thank you sir”. 

“Would you care for a drink? I just received a bottle of Hocklenor Whiskey from the Irish Minister for Magic. I think this might be just the right occasion to try it out.”

Hocklenor Whiskey was the most expensive whiskey in the wizarding world, aged in wood barrels made from the oldest sentient tree in Europe and tended to by the fairies that lived within. It took 100 years to make a batch and wasn’t even sold in stores. Draco had heard about this whiskey from some of his father’s friends before the war and had always felt ownership of a bottle would mark a success in his life. Even tasting it would be a day to celebrate. 

“No, thank you, Minister, “ Draco said, trying to hide the deep regret in his voice. 

“Draco, you’re going to have a drink with me. Unless of course you’re a recovering alcoholic or something?” the minister said with a playful sternness. 

Following suit Draco replied, “You know, you’re the second person today to question my relationship with alcohol” He reached out and took the tumbler from the Ministers hand with a grateful nod. 

“Lena keeping you on your toes then?” the Minister chuckled. 

“How did you…?” How did the Minister of Magic know the name of his secretary?!

“Oh, Lena and I were in school together, we see each other a few times a year at Hogwarts and Order functions of course. She has quite a lot to say about you, young man!”

“Of course, Sir, I’m sure” Draco said with a smirk. 

“Please, take a seat, Draco. We are waiting for one more before I can explain why I have asked you here tonight.” The Minister pointed to the plush arm chairs and love seat in front of the roaring fire. Draco took a moment to survey the room, what must have been the Minister’s private study. It was cozy, much like the common room the 8th years had shared at Hogwarts. Persian carpets of reds and yellows adorned the floors, rich hangings of burgundy covered in lions and woodland creatures decorated the walls. The Minister’s desk was delicate yet sturdy, and covered in large tomes and small notebooks. This was obviously the place the Minister came to think, and apparently the place to hold late night meetings with reformed death eaters and mysterious guests. 

Draco took a seat on the far armchair, facing the door and his back to the wall. Orienting oneself to a position of protection was a habit that had not died with Voldemort. 

“Minister” Draco began, but before he could finish, there was a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” the Minister said, raising is eyebrows towards his hairline and allowing twist to appear on his lips. Draco saw the magical thread of the wards pulse from the door just as it had done for him and heard the door click open. 

In walked one of the fittest men Draco had ever laid eyes on. He was just the right amount of tall, perfectly toned and strong but not in a boarish way. He stood with a weary self assurance, like he could take on the dangers of the world without a second thought. The man wore work boots, like the ones Draco saw muggle builders wear, dark and weathered denims, and a fitted navy blue jumper that had seen better days. A tan rucksack over his shoulder, the man was a casual, but imposing figure. After Draco’s indulgent meander over the man’s body, his eyes finally reached the man’s face. And his eyes. And his forehead. 

Of course. Of course it was Harry Potter. 

“Harry, Draco, I’m sure you remember one another,” the Minister said with mirth, subtly imploring the two men to not get into a fist fight in his study. 

The two men stared at one another for longer than was comfortable, examining what 15 years would do to one’s least favorite classmate. 

Draco examined the man again, now with the knowledge that it was Harry Potter. He was still one of the fittest men Draco had ever seen, whatever Potter was up to these days obviously agreed with him. But the rugged and casual nature of the man’s appearance seemed out of place on the Boy Who Lived, as if he had stripped himself of everything that made people say his name in capital letters. His face had aged, of course, but he still had those boyish good looks that made him so popular with the girls of Hogwarts. His skin was deeply tanned, there were laugh lines around his mouth that could be seen just underneath the light stubble on his face, small freckles underneath his lower eye lashes. His green eyes were as bright as ever, standing in stark contrast to his skin. Without his glasses, Harry looked more mature. He wore his hair long, tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck. “So he’s hip, now is he?” Draco thought to himself, watching Harry’s eyes grow wider and wider with the recognition of the blond man who was standing opposite him. 

“This is worse than I ever, ever, EVER could have imagined,” Harry thought to himself while he surveyed the blond standing across the room. Draco had aged well. Really, really well. Harry had heard bits and pieces about the git from Hermione, who saw Draco on occasion. But she never conveyed what Harry saw right in front of him. Draco was tall and slim, with shoulders that were just broader than the rest of his torso. In a perfectly tailored muggle suit and waistcoat, he looked powerful. His hair was slicked back as it had always been in school, but in a softer, more natural manner. He was still pale, but in a porcelain way, not in a “I am afraid the Dark Lord is going to impale me through the heart at any moment” kind of way. Harry barely noticed his clean shaven face or the subtle lines around his mouth and forehead. All Harry could see was his steely eyes. He had forgotten where he knew that color, appearing in his dreams every so often alongside the smell of copper. His instincts took over again as he firmly rooted himself into the floor, bending his knees slightly to lower his center of gravity. 

Kingsley cleared his thought, bringing both men out of their shock induced hazes. 

“Harry, it is a pleasure to see you son”, Kingsley said as he walked over to wrap the man in a hug. 

“You too, Kings,” Harry replied, returning the hug and burying his face in the older man’s shoulder, much like one would do to their parent. 

“How long had it been since they saw each other?” Draco thought to himself, feeling as though he was imposing on a long sought after reunion. 

Kingsley released the man, holding onto his shoulders at arm’s length and examining him. 

“Molly will not be happy, Harry”, he said with a chuckle. 

Harry returned the man’s laugh alongside a sad and tight smile. 

Remembering they were not along, Kingsley stepped aside so the two men were once again face to face, though neither of them knew what to do next other than stare. 

“Please, take a seat, Harry,” Kingsley said as he walked over to the drink cart to pour Harry a glass of Hocklenor. Harry did as instructed, taking a seat in the armchair Kingsley had just vacated, never breaking eye contact with Draco. Draco resumed his seat, picked up his tumbler and with an effort he did not expect, broke eye contact with Harry in favor of a glance at the fire. 

“Here you go son”, Kingsley said as he handed Harry the glass

“Thanks Kings”, Harry whispered, moving his gaze from Draco to the Minister. 

The Minister took a seat on the small loveseat, his large frame dwarfing the piece of furniture. Before speaking, Kingsley took a long pull of his drink and firmly set his glass down on the table before him. 

“I’m sure you are both curious as to why I have asked you here this evening,” he began. 

The two men sat in silence, staring at the man in anticipation. 

“There has been an incident in Wales, one that is causing me and the Ministry great concern. An event like this hasn’t occurred in the United Kingdom in over 300 years and so we are unsure of exactly how to proceed, which is where you two come in.”

“What kind of incident?”, Draco asked, more confused than he was this morning. He was a bureaucrat, a glorified pencil pusher and glad hander. He hadn’t been in the field for over a decade, let alone dealing with an incident that was causing the Minister or the Ministry “great concern”. 

“Before I can answer that, I must first ask if you both accept the case. I cannot divulge the details without good reason. If either of you wish to leave, you may do so now, with no prejudice at all.” The Minister paused, looking at both men for a long moment. 

“I’m game,” Harry replied, “If I wasn’t I would have damn well stayed on the island.”

Kingsley nodded, turning then to Draco. 

Draco knew he should say no. He did not need this kind of disruption in his life. He had a routine and house plants and a life. He did not need to be running off to Wales with Harry sodding Potter for god knows how long. But he also knew that if he said no, the curiosity would eat away at him. No one had seen Harry Potter in England since the end of the War. Of course there had been rumors and talk of sightings, but never anything confirmed. Of course Draco knew he was alive and not completely incapacitated from the passing mentions by Hermione or the Weasel, but never any details. He had to know. Even though every bone in his body was scared out of his mind, he had to say yes. 

“Yes, sir, I accept,” Draco said. 

“Harry, you may tell your family you are here” Draco assumed he meant Granger and the Weasels and Andy and Teddy “but no one else. Draco, you may tell your friends and family you are on an assignment but may divulge no more details than that. You may not tell anyone where you are going or why, and you may not tell them anything about what you may…encounter while you are away.” 

Draco was already regretting this decision. 

“Okay,” replied the two men. 

“I have chosen you both for specific reasons, of course. Harry is one of the world’s leading myth hunters, Draco. He is the top in his field and comes highly recommended by many Ministries and Administrations around the world. Draco is the Director for the Office of the Preservation of the International Statute of Secrecy, Harry, and has extensive knowledge of the wards and charms that keep the magical world hidden from muggles as well as those that protect muggles from the magical world. I hope I can count on both of you to put your boyhood feuds aside for this case.”

The two men looked at each other in silence once more. After one heartbeat they broke eye contact and turned back to the Minister. 

“Alright, I guess that will have to do. Now….” Harry then reached for his rucksack which lay against the foot of his chair. 

“No, no notes, I will provide you with a small pensive to bring with you to act as a reminder.” 

Harry instantly stiffened in his chair, remembering the last case he took during which he could document nothing. It hadn’t ended well. 

“One month ago we were alerted to some odd activity in the wizarding village that sits just a few kilometers away from Pendragon Castle,” Kingsley said slowly, careful to watch the reaction of the two men before continuing. Harry had closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously understanding what this meant. Draco, on the other hand, had a quizzical look on his face. 

“What is it, son?” Kingsley asked Draco. 

“I’m sorry sir but I don’t recall the significance on Pendragon Castle? The name sounds familiar but I don’t understand what this place has to do with me. Or MythHunting at that?” 

“Pendragon Castle is the ancestral home of King Arthur and was the place of some of Merlin and Morgan Le Fay’s greatest magic,” Kingsley replied. 

The gears of Draco’s mind finally began to turn. “Oh”, was all he could muster. 

“Yes, indeed. Because the stories of Arthur and Merlin, and to a lesser extent Morgan, are so well known in the Muggle world, the Castle has become quite the tourist attraction. Draco, if you do some digging, you will be able to find the spells that have kept the magical aspects of the building concealed from Muggles. They were placed around the fourth century, so you’ll have to go back a bit. These wards and charms are meant to conceal not only the powers of the Castle, but a great deal of the Castle itself. When a muggle sees it, they see a dilapidated brick structure with a winnowing tower, this of course was meant to deter too much exploration and questions. Unfortunately, due to the ancient nature of the wards, wizards see much the same thing, though they can see and feel the wards that have been placed around the Castle.

“Last week, we received word that a Muggle was lost in the Castle. Her friend had come rushing into the only pub in Llanwyn begging for help. Luckily the owner of the pub is a wizard and was able to alert the Ministry, but the poor girl had to be obligated and her friend has still not been found. I don’t think I need to underscore why this turn of events is so urgent. I need you both to get to Llanwyn as soon as possible and try and get a handle on what is happening. I have an inkling about what is occurring, but I hope I am wrong.”

Draco also had an inkling about what was occurring and he also hoped liked absolute hell he was wrong. His first and only encounter with myth magic had been in his fourth year in Opus (that was the shorthand for the Office of the Preservation of the International Statute of Secrecy, as the alternative was too crude for the work place). His success on that case had given him his first promotion and commenced his trajectory to Director. While myth magic hadn’t occurred in England for centuries, it was more common in other countries, especially America. In the early 2000s he was on a junket with the Under Secretary for International Magical Cooperation in the Pacific Northwest of America, Washington to be exact, when a string of vampire attacks occurred. Vampires were not native to the area, though many magical creatures were, and the American wizarding community had been stunned and very concerned. Muggles were being taken almost weekly, their bodies left bloodless and white on street corners and in parks. The National Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to be called in and the British envoy was asked to stick around to help investigate as Europe had far more vampires than America. It was after a late lunch that Draco had stopped in a muggle book shop to see if they had any of the new James Patterson novels he secretly loved when he saw a gaggle of teen girls in the queue for the register holding a book called “Twilight” and pretending to bite one another. On the neck. Much like a Vampire. Draco dropped his book, ran into the alleyway next to the bookshop, and apparated to the wizarding hotel the British delegation had been occupying for the last two weeks. The muggle fervor around “Twilight” had made the area highly attractive to and conducive for Vampires, and as the story’s popularity grew, so did the magic’s strength. Draco relayed his discovery to the Under Secretary who took it to the Head of the American DMLE. They were thanked profusely for their assistance and left the Americans to deal with their issue. Upon their return, the Under Secretary asked Draco to become her executive liaison to Opus, and he rose quickly through the ranks. 

The sheer magnitude of destruction that occurred in America on that visit, however, had stuck with Draco. He had never heard of anything like it since and he had hoped he never would. He never did find out how the Americans dealt with their problem, but since it was never mentioned on any subsequent trips across the pond, he had assumed it had been handled. 

There was a long stretch of silence, each man lost in their own thoughts. Harry was the first to break it. 

“Alright, Kings, I have some diagnostic questions for you before we take off”

“Woah there, Potter, we aren’t leaving tonight!” Draco interrupted. 

“Obviously, Malfoy, its just an expression,” Harry said with a slight roll of his eyes, “Actually, I guess these questions could be for both of you, seeing as I haven’t been in England recently. Have there been any changes in either the Muggle or Wizarding school curriculum?”

“No”, both Draco and Kingsley answered. “There was talk a few years ago about changing it, but nothing to do with that part of either societies histories,” Kingsley continued. Draco nodded in agreement. 

“Okay, the more obvious questions are around literature, film, video games, anything like that?” Harry asked, the question more directed at Draco this time. 

“There was a relatively popular muggle game called Dungeons and Dragons that made a resurgence in late 2005, but that was mainly amongst a particular sect of teen muggle boys. Nothing like the fever I imagine would be needed to invoke myth magic,” Draco responded. noticing the puzzled look on Harry’s face. 

“How does Draco know what invokes myth magic?” Harry thought. So few people even knew what it was, let alone what it took to invoke it. 

“I’ve encountered it before, only once, and did some reading on it in the wake of the event. It was unlike anything I had ever seen,” Draco said in response to the obvious shock and confusion on Potter’s face. 

“Right. Uhm, okay. What about any other places in Britain? Any outlandish breaches in the Statute by witches or wizards or magical creatures? Its getting close to the holidays, did Nicholas Kristoff break out of the Jannis Thickley ward again?”

“No, nothing like that,” Kingsley stated, “this is why I called you Harry. You know I wouldn’t have asked you to come back here if it wasn’t important.”

“I know, Kings, I know.”

Silence fell once again, each man picking up their forgotten tumblers and throwing back the warm, tingling liquid. 

“Kings, I have one more question for you,” Harry said, “Do you think this could have anything to do with Voldemort?” Harry was doing his best not to look at Draco while he spoke, but he eyes darting towards the blond betrayed him. 

“I don’t know Harry,” was all Kingsley could say. 

Harry then looked directly at Malfoy and then down to his arm. 

“Well, Malfoy? What do you say?” Harry said while shooting his eyes down to Draco’s left arm and raising his brows expectantly. 

“My mark hasn’t burned for over 15 years, Potter, surely I would have told someone if it had?” Draco spat, offended Potter would think anything else. 

“Just doing my job,” Harry muttered. 

“Well do it without insult me, yeah?”

“Gentlemen, unless you have anymore questions, I will give you the case file and we can all be on our way,” Kingsley stated. 

“Sure”

“Of course, Minister”

“Good. Now here is the file,” Kingsley fetched a small folder from his desk, tapped it twice and it duplicated, “Both of you read up and if you have anymore questions I will make myself available all day tomorrow. I have arranged with the Department for Magical Investigations that you may have access to anything you may need; research, equipment, potions, anything. I hope you will get out into the field as soon as possible, though, at very least to re-establish the wards and bar any more muggles from access the Castle. 

Draco nodded. Harry just stared at the Minister. 

“Harry, the floor in your tent will connect directly to this office and I have also amended the wards to allow you both to apparate in and out of this room. But only this room. It took me all night to adjust the wards without alerting the entire Ministry. Harry I know its important to you that few know you are in the country.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it”

“Thats it for tonight, gentlemen,” Kinglsey rose out of his chair and moved so that there was a clear path to the door for both of them. 

“Night, Kings,” Harry said with a hug, “give Katrina my love, I’m sure Molly will be having everyone over soon.”

“Ha, of course”

“Good evening, Minister,” Draco said as he shook Kingsleys hand. Kingsley returned the handshake and gave Draco a warm nod. 

Harry and Draco found themselves standing outside of Kingsley’s study. Alone. Perhaps for the first time since the bathroom incident so many years ago.

The two men just stared at one another, unable to move or speak or even think for that matter. Hannah had long since gone home and the whoosh of the floo could be hear from behind the door from which they just exited. They were alone and had no idea what to do next. 

“I arrive at my office promptly at 7am every morning, there are rarely more than charmed brooms around to notice me. Here is my office number,” Draco conjured a small piece of parchment with his name, title, office, and office number written upon it, “we’ll meet at 7 and go from there.” Draco said goodnight and began to walk towards the lifts, using every ounce of courage to not turn around and assess how Harry had reacted. Draco was in an absolute tizzy and needed to rely on the aloof haughtiness that had gotten him through so much of his life. 

Draco arrived at the lifts, thankfully a golden grate stood open, waiting for a passenger. He quickly shoved the grate in place and barked out, “Floor 3, Opus!”. 

“See you then,” Harry said to the empty corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm editing myself-sorry for any spelling mistakes, my computer doesn't love magical language apparently!

“Hermione!”, Harry shouted as he tumbled out of the floo and into the Weasley-Granger kitchen. 

“Harry? Harry, is that you? What in Godric’s name are you doing in our kitchen?” Hermione shouted as she ran down the stairs towards the kitchen. 

“Its a long story,” Harry said as Hermione enveloped him in a crushing hug, “I was hoping I could stay here tonight?”

“Of course you can stay here you muppet, but first you have to tell me why you’re here at all!” Hermione shrieked. 

“What is happening down there?” Ron yelled as he descended the stairs, trailed by pajama clad Rose and Hugo, who were meant to be be in bed. 

“Uncle Harry! Uncle Harry! Did you bring us presents??” Rose and Huge yelled as the barreled into their Godfather. 

Harry bent down and returned their hugs, looking up as Ron entered the kitchen. “Mate what the fu——dge are you doing here?” Ron asked. 

“I’m here to do some work for Kingsley,” Harry said gravely, gaze darting between his two friends, the unspoken understanding of how serious it must be for Harry to have been called sinking in. 

“Alright,” Hermione said, “Rose, Hugo, give your Uncle Harry a kiss and then go back up to bed, it is well past your bedtime!”

“But Mum, Uncle Harry NEVER comes to visit! What if he leaves??” Rose protested. 

“I’ll be coming back tomorrow night I’m sure, I’ll do my best to be back for dinner, yeah?” Harry said to his goddaughter as he scooped her up to deposit her neatly on the stairs, “but that means you need to go back to sleep.” Hermione shot him a grateful smile and ushered her children back upstairs. 

“What the fuck, mate?” Ron said with a hearty slap to Harry’s shoulder, a look of bewilderment on his face. 

“Thats not even the worst part” Harry said as he began sifting through the cupboards, “have any food? And fire whiskey?”

“Yeah, sit down I’ll make you a plate. Ron, I have a new bottle of fire whiskey in the top cupboard behind the ProNutra, will you fetch it?” Hermione said as she walked back in. Harry gave her a puzzling look. “Rose was poking around the cupboards last week on top of two stacked chairs, I walked in on her mixing Fire Whiskey and a sleeping draught into a bowl. She said she liked the way the concoction sparkled,” Hermione said with an eye roll. 

Once Harry had a plate of hot food and two glasses of fire whiskey in him and after a quick catch up on the Weasleys and Rose and Hugo, Ron finally asked, “Alright Harry what is going on? Why are you here? Not that we don’t love you but it can’t be good if Kingsley called you.”

“Kings asked me not to give away any specifics…but I’m a myth hunter. In Britain. Myth Hunters generally go after Myths that are well known to Muggles.” Harry said each phrase with emphasis, raising his eyebrows and allowing his eyes to grow bigger with each sentence, “You are both smart people, I’m sure you can figure it out. Well, I’m sure Hermione can figure it out,” he said with a chuckle that was echoed by Ron. 

“Oh my god! Pendragon?” Hermione said after only a few moments. Harry responded with a tight smile and a glance at the floor. 

“Whats that?” asked Ron. 

“Pendragon is the ancestral home of King Arthur, as well as the site of some of Merlin and Morgan Le Fey’s greatest magic. Many believe it is the site of the creation of the first Philosophers Stone. The Castle is a bit like Hogwarts in that the building itself is sentient, and so once the last Pendragon no longer called it home, it began to ward itself from witches and wizards. The ministry added its own wards later as the Castle didn’t take into account Muggles ever wanting to see it, but the legends around King Arthur and Merlin became quite popular in the 20th and 21st Centuries, especially after a Muggle film known as…oh I know this” Hermione said as she made her way to the small library just a few steps from the kitchen, “Ah! Yes, Monty Python and the Holy Grail! Apparently it was quite the comic hit and brought the mythos into the modern lexicon” she stated triumphantly. 

“My wife is a walked encyclopedia. I never tire of how little I have to think,” Ron says with a lazy smile. 

“Oh stop, I was discussing Muggle film with Arthur just last week, it was on the top of my mind,” Hermione said with ease. 

“But thats not the biggest problem, guys,”Harry said with a pregnant pause. 

Ron and Hermione stared at Harry in stiff confusion. 

“Kingsley is making me work with Malfoy.” Harry said in a low growl. 

Ron and Hermione continued to stare. 

“Guys. Malfoy! I have to work with Malfoy! Are you not hearing me?”, Harry inflected while pounding a palm into the table and showing the entire whites of his eyes. 

“Harry,” Hermione began, “Draco hasn’t been that person for a long time. He’s grown quite a bit since you left. He’s well respected in his office, he doesn’t scoff at the barista at the coffee cart anymore. He even made a joke last month while we were in the elevator. And you know that Harry, you did write the letter that pardon him and his mother?” Hermione asked with confusion.

“Yeah, he’s not exactly a party but even I don’t want to hex him on site. Though I don’t entirely believe the joke bit,” Ron added. 

“I mean, I know he’s not the heartless wench I thought he was in school but I refuse to believe he’s become tolerable,” said Harry, “I already hate that I have to work with someone else but why couldn’t it be someone who isn’t a snobby ponce with daddy issues?”

“If this were Zabini or Parkinson, would you care as much?” Hermione mused. 

“Of course not,” Harry spat without a second thought. 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a knowing look. 

“You’re both grown men, with careers and self control, remember that. Now, its quite late and we all need to be up early tomorrow. Ron, can you show Harry the guest room, I’ll fetch him some towels and another blanket,” Hermione directed. 

Harry and Ron walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Harry looked at the photos that lined the wall up the staircase: a photo of Ginny and Blaise making cookies with Teddy and Victoire, one of Harry holding Rose on his knee and newborn Hugo in his arms, Bill and Charlie and George waving to the photographer from the garden of the Burrow. Usually when Harry thought of his family, he was in a nameless town in a nameless place, watching little families go about their normal lives, and he was glad that he didn’t have to live like that every day. The getting the children to school and making sure the dishes are clean and the laundry is finished were all things he was happy to live without. But as he passed each photo on a staircase he had never climbed, he realized he had no idea when or why these photos were taken, save the ones in which he featured. He was part of this family but not in the daily, mundane way that would elicit a wall of photos and a heart full of memories. He shook his head, forcing himself back into his old head, remembering the day that awaits him tomorrow. 

“Here you go, mate. Bathroom is down the hall, Hugo is on the left just past the bathroom and Rose on the right. I’d put a strong locking and silencing spell up because they do enjoy a nice pre-dawn game of monkeys on the bed.” 

“Oh I remember-Japan, last year, remember when Rose decided I needed to see the cherry blossoms so she brought half the tree into my room from the garden?” Harry said. 

“Oh god, don’t say that too loudly, she’ll start on the botanist train again,” Hermione said, handing Harry a clean towel and one of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheeze’s patented warming blankets. George sent Harry one a few winters ago and it greatly improved his missions in the North. 

“Thanks guys. I have to meet Malfoy at 7 tomorrow morning but I’ll try for dinner.” 

“Rose will be thrilled,” Ron said. 

“We’re so happy to see you, Harry. Its a little strange, the three of us at home,” Hermione whispered. 

“There are worse things,” Harry said with a small smile, filling with a warmth he hadn’t experienced in so long. He realized then that he hadn’t stayed in someone’s home in over a decade and that in that calculation, he hadn’t taken into account his tent. The tent was comfortable, it had everything he could ever need or want, and collapsed in under 10 minutes, but in his mind he didn’t file it under “homes”. Had it not earned that title after all of these years?

“Night Harry, love you,” Hermione said with a hug and kiss on the cheek. 

“Don’t forget the silencing charm,” Ron warned. 

Harry laughed as he opened the door to the small, cozy guest room. It was decorated much like the rest of the house-deep oranges and yellows, plenty of family photos, and a hand made Weasley quilt over the fluffy duvet. Harry accio’d pajama out of his rucksack, quickly changed and fell into bed, exhausted by the day’s events. He was thrilled to be in such a welcoming bed, but was dreading this night’s sleep. Surely being back in England, in the Ministry, talking to Malfoy at very least, would bring the nightmares back. Part of how Harry had been able to justify his self imposed exile from the island were the nightmares that had plagued him for the first few years. By the time he had established himself as a myth hunter, they had all but disappeared, and so much of his anxiety and fear about the war disappeared along with them. He had found what he set out to seek-peace. 

~*~

“Pansy for the love of god I need a drink,” Draco said as he landed in Pansy’s bedroom, having apparated directly into it from the Ministry apparition point. 

Draco flopped onto the queen size bed in the middle of the room, throwing his suit jacket on the floor and landing directly on top of the myriad outfits Pansy had laid out. 

“Darling get off my bed, I have a date in an hour and I’d prefer to not look rumpled,” Pansy said as she shooed Draco off the bed. 

Draco surveyed Pansy’s dressing attire-a matching set of black french lace lingerie with inline charm work to literally make her body hum with lust. It was one of Ginny Weasley’s newest creations. Ginny and Blaise had opened the magical garmet shop just a few years earlier and Pansy was always the youngest Weasel’s test subject. 

“New prototype, Pans? Its a little intense I daresay. I’m bent as a fish hook and even I want to slap your backside,” he said in jest.

“Oh god don’t even say that, you’re giving me flashbacks to our hormones induced trists of 6th year,” Pansy said with a shudder. 

“Speaking of the boy wonder, where have you moved the liquor to this time?” Draco demanded. 

“No! I am trying to lose half a stone before next week, no liquor unless I’m out!” 

Draco went out into her unnecessarily large kitchen, filled with crockery and gadgets that no one ever used. Her usual hiding places, the oven and cupboards, had been retired only after the 3rd failed detox. He could have accio’d the bottle of firewhiskey he knew was hidden somewhere, but the thrill of the chase made it so much more satisfying once he “Ah-ha! In the flour! How clever, Pans, you never cease to surprise me!” Draco shouted across the flat after a log swig of the amber liquid. 

Pansy came out of the bedroom in a tight black dress and simple red heels, looking as though she could simultaneously kill someone and make them come with nothing but her pointer finger. 

“Now, what are you saying about Potter? I haven’t heard you mention him in literal years. Are you having a mid-life crisis? Did you take too many calming draughts again?” Pany’s actual concerned masked by her fanged sarcasm. 

“I’m serious Pans. I have to work with him.”

“What the fuck? He’s in Britain? Doing what?” Pansy said with real shock. 

“I can’t tell you much more than I have to go up North with him. Just him. We’re going to be sleeping in a tent! You know how I feel about the elements,” Draco lamented. 

“The elements are the least of your worries, dearest, you need to worry about…other natural phenomena,” Pansy giggled with a glance at Draco’s crotch. 

“Oh do shut up. The man is a walking advertisement for toxic masculinity of the self indulgent and self sacrificing variety, there is no way he is gay,” Draco spat between gritted teeth. 

“That’s sexist. All men can be toxic, first of all, and second of all, why do you think he left Ginny? She’s just as fit and nice as any other girl? Maybe the boy who lived wants more up his arse than his own head.”

“Wait, that is not the problem here! The problem is Eli and the Minister and my sodding future career prospects. Potter’s sexuality is immaterial,” Draco said with stern conviction. 

“Sure,” Pansy’s voice dripping in sarcasm, “your career will only improve with this…mission? sojourn? whatever it is as long as you don’t literally set Potter on fire. As far as Eli, what are you worried about there?” Pansy asked. 

“I’ll have to be away for who knows how long, I can’t tell him where I’m going or why, and what if he finds out who I’m with?” Draco pleaded. 

“And why would that be a problem,” Pansy asked with mock concern. 

“You know bloody well you cow!” Draco bit. 

Draco had met Eli 5 years ago at a Ministry fundraiser for St. Mungo’s. He had gone alone, only making an appearance and a donation because its what he needed to do, when Eli slid next to him at the open bar. Eli was tall and muscular with olive skin, hazel eyes and sun freckles all over his face. For a healer, he was out in the sun quite a bit on his weekly hikes through the mountains of Europe. His messy-but-purposefully-so light brown hair set off his face perfectly, but his smile is what did Draco in. Once he felt a presence to his right, Draco turned to see who it was. When the two men made eye contact, Eli’s mouth formed into a smirk on one side, almost mischievous. But he couldn’t hold it for long, his full lips soon breaking into a playful grin that made Draco feel like a child again. Eli offered to buy him a drink, though Draco noted it was an open bar, and they spent the rest of the night slowly dancing around the other. Draco would be having a painfully boring conversation with the an Under Secretary for Who The Fuck Cares and he would see Eli out of the corner of his eye, clearly taking Draco in from across the room. Draco would indulge in a one beat, two beats, three beats, of eye contact then completely turn away. Not 20 minutes later Draco walked behind Eli who was talking to a large group from the Holyhead Harpies, crowing the bar area, and brushed his hand against the small of Eli’s back. Eli turned around and Draco groaned a slow and deep “excuse me”, without breaking eye contact for a moment. They spent the next 2 hours in this dance, staying well past the toasts and speeches and networking, ensuring this gambol went on for as long as possible. 

Finally, with an aching cock and a light head, Draco waltzed up to Eli and said starkly, “Ready to go?”, Eli hadn’t even finished the word “Yes” before Draco was apparating them to his flat. After a night of almost painful passion, the two fell into an intense and quick courtship that had resulted in a comfortable and languid relationship. He and Draco would see each other every Tuesday and Thursday, the nights Eli was off from St. Mungo’s. They’d spend Saturday together reading or shopping or having a lie in, and Sunday Eli would go off on one of his mountain adventures, leaving Draco to do research or organize his flat. They had fallen into this routine a few years ago and it seemed to suit them. They both had the partners they longed for, a receptive ear and warm shoulder when days were hard. It wasn’t the raw passion they started out with, but it was kind and loving and familiar. 

6 months ago, Eli had found some of Draco’s things from his Hogwarts day when he was searching for a spare set of swimming trunks. 

Draco had kept fastidious records of his “mission” in sixth year, documenting every communication from the Manor, every method he tried, and every thought he had, just in case one day he needed it. The notes about his mission for the Dark Lord were under a strong obscura charm built into the ink he used, but it only worked on things relating to the cabinet or death eaters or Voldemort. These notes, however, also included a lot of musings about Potter and Granger and the Weasel, but mainly Potter. Potter’s stupid hair, Potter’s infuriating eyes, and Potter’s rage inducing arse. When Eli found these notes, he though Draco’s adolescent obsession with Potter was amusing (and all there was to it). Draco couldn’t tell him that these notes were part of a much more sinister narrative than just his lust for the Golden Boy, so he went along with it. He had admitted to his boyhood crush on Potter and laughed it off, but it seemed to have stayed with Eli. He started asking Draco if he had a thing for the scars he got from mountain climbing accidents and if his adventures on Kilimanjaro were hot enough for him. Draco laughed it off still, but he saw that Eli was intimidated by the shadow of the boy who lived. 

A few weeks ago, Draco had said something absolutely insane after one of Eli’s comments. In the middle of an uncharacteristic heady make out session on Draco’s couch, Draco separated his lips from Eli’s and looked in his eyes, stoking the reticent flames of passion that existed between the two of them. After a few moments, Eli said, “What? Can you see the ghosts of my past swimming in my cornea’s?” with a chortle. “For the love of all the gods in all the realms, this was insane!” Draco thought. Without really thinking about the words that were escaping his mount, Draco replied, “Oh as if Harry Potter would even want me! Give it a break, Eli!”

That has sparked one of their biggest fights ever, because it confirmed for Eli his worst fear, that he could never compare to The Boy Who Lived. Draco had apologized, said he didn’t mean it that way, said that Eli was the one he wanted, the one he needed. And after a night of groveling and a long and rough apology blow job, Draco had been forgiven. The last thing he needed was for Eli to find out that he was about to go on a top secret galavant with the invisible force that had put so much strain on their relationship. 

“Just tell him the truth, but leave some bits and pieces to the imagination. Its the best way to keep your delusion boyfriend happy,” Pansy said with a cheery smirk, “Its also my secret to getting a shag anytime I want.”

“Go on your date, I’ll just be here drinking my weight in fire whiskey,” Draco droned. 

“Ta darling, no vomiting on the carpet or else Lena will hear about it,” Pansy called as she shut the door. 

Thankfully it was only Monday, Draco would have a full 24 hours to decide how to handle Eli. Would it be better to tell him everything? Draco had never been one for full disclosure, but mainly because Eli never asked. He never asked about the war or his family or the manor. Eli accepted that their lives were in the present, not in the past and not in the future. Draco didn’t feel right, though, keeping the true nature of his work trip to himself. Maybe he could really drive home the ‘top secret’ nature of it, play up the Minster angle, make Eli think he was as exciting as Everest. No matter what he decided, he would decide on it tomorrow. Draco set down the bottle of fire whiskey and walked over to the floo. He wanted to sleep in his own bed and he needed to water the Gigernarian Ficus Neville had helped him pick out.

Once back in his own flat, Draco kicked off his shoes and placed them in their slot on the shoe bench next to the floo. He vanished the remaining powder from his suit and from the floor because the build up really got to him after awhile. Draco wondered if he should touch up his decor when he returned from Wales. He had purchased this flat with cash after his first year in Opus, once he had known where he would be and what he would be doing. He was on his own for the first time in his life and he was keen to make a home for himself. One that he could choose, one that he could decorate, one that he could ward. A home that no death eater or dark wizard or psychotic aunt could occupy or desecrate. The flat he chose was the one with the most light and was a relatively short walk to the ministry. It was also right down the road from some lucious muggle cafes and bakeries, places he visits frequently on the weekends to conduct his hobby-is research. He had decided on a soft palette for the flat, full of pale yellows and mint green and sky blues. The sofa was overstuffed and comfortable, perfect for winter fires and the frame for summer evening carpet picnics with the windows thrown open. He had an extra armchair that sat near the fire place for solitary reading and many cushions and blankets for the floor when friends came to visit. The kitchen table had four sharp edges and four solid chairs, though it was seldom used for more than a work space or a receptacle for the entrails of Draco’s morning toast. The walls were covered in photos from his travels as well as from friends birthdays and dinners and trips to the seaside. His favorite bit of his flat was his collection of plants from each of the places he had gone as an envoy for Opus and some additions from Neville. They had bonded at Draco’s house warming over his then small herb garden in his kitchen window and it had forged a strong though unlikely bond between the two men. 

The flat only had one bedroom, which was particularly sparse, just a wrought iron bed and a dresser and one nightstand. Eli had asked Draco to get another so that Eli could place his wand next to his side of the bed when he stayed over, but Draco had never acted upon the request, rather choosing to leave his space as he had planned it out. He had gotten so used to the idea that the bedroom was meant for little more than sleep, with the living area beyond his bedroom door being the most important part of a home as that was where his friends would be, that he sort of forgot to put much effort into the room. His en suite was clean and crisp and organized, white tile and marble making the footed bath and closet shower almost blend into the walls and floors. Draco had made this flat his home, a place he loved to retreat into, and now he would have to leave it to live in a tent with Harry Potter for god knows how long. Even one night was one night too many. 

He walked into the bedroom after watering his ficus, undressing and carefully placing his suit on the designated hanger in the closet. He spelled off the lights and climbed onto his unfairly comfortable mattress, waiting for the dreams of the bathroom and those green eyes to come back to him for the first time in years. 

“I always knew this day would come. Harry Potter, the Once and Future torment,” Draco mumbled before drifting off to sleep. 

~*~

Harry arrived at the office printed on the small parchment at exactly 7am, not wanting to ignite the ire of Malfoy. He approached the desk that sat outside of Malfoy’s door and gave a warm smile to the woman sitting behind it. 

“You must be Mr. Potter,” Lena said to the man before her. 

“Uh yeah, hi,” Harry said sheepishly. 

“Mr. Malfoy is waiting for you inside. May I say, it is a pleasure to meet you. Kingsley speaks so highly of you,” Lena doted with an uncharacteristically warm smile. 

This is what Harry had been avoiding for 15 years, the idea that people he had never met knew that it should be a pleasure to meet him. What if he was a total wanker? What if he had decided to become a facist in the last decade? The people who knew him also knew his flaws. Harry returned the woman’s smile and slipped past the desk to the door reading “D.L. Malfoy, Director, Office for the Preservation of the International Statute of Secrecy, British Division.”

“Well fuck me, seems Malfoy is a now a gold plated ponce,” Harry thought to himself. 

Harry entered the office with a reticence he hadn’t experience in quite some time. The office was imposing and dark, exactly what he thought Malfoy’s office at the Manor would look like. The walls were a deep forrest green, offset by the dark mahogany floors that matched the door that he just closed. There were portraits of former Under Secretaries and awards and accolades from foreign Ministries and Governments. In the corner, however, was a warm little kitchen that reminded him in some ways of Molly’s kitchen. It had a kettle and a sink and cupboards with glass doors that had a collection of mismatched mugs and plates within them. It took a moment for Harry to realize it was actually warded to be hidden in plain sight. It was rare, but Harry could sometimes see through or enter into wards that were set to allow certain types of people in, not just specific individuals. They were incredibly complicated and rarely used, but they generally allowed those they didn’t find threatening or those who cared deeply for their creators through. That last bit was both confusing and terrifying for Harry. 

“Whats with the kitchen, Malfoy?” Harry asked before Malfoy could get the first word in. 

Malfoy looked up from his large desk, “You can see it?” he said with more confusion than irritation.

“Yeah, not the first time wards didn’t notice me. Or noticed me and didn’t care I suppose,” Harry answered with a shrug as he sat in a large leather chair opposite Malfoy’s desk.

“Are you in any way, shape, or form normal, Potter?” Draco asked with exasperation. 

“Let’s just get on with it, yeah?” Harry urged. 

“Fine. I would like to better understand your qualifications before we begin to assess our needs and materials for this case,” Draco said from behind his desk, giving off an air of self assurance and experience. He had spent two hours this morning picking out the most powerful trouser and waist coast combination in his wardrobe, determined to look more powerful and in charge than he has ever actually felt. 

“I’m a myth hunter. I hunt myths. I get paid to do it so I’m obvious not shit at it.” Harry said with not a decimal of inflection. Malfoy’s appearance was unsettling him in a way he couldn’t quite place. He looked as though he belonged behind that desk, in that stupid suit, protecting the Muggle and Magical world alike. He looked powerful. 

“An enthralling explanations of one’s life” Draco began, “but I would prefer a bit more detail if I am to be entrusting my safety to you in any way. I don’t much enjoy working with a partner but seeing as I have no option, I’d like to understand what you bring to this…arrangement.” 

“Fine. My first case was in America, hunting vampires. After I had dealt with that absolute clusterfuck I realized I quite liked myth magic so I started kind of seeking it out. Not all of the cases I take are dark, some of them are only dangerous because the creatures or wizard or witch don’t understand whats happening to them,” Harry was trying his best to seem as confident and at ease as Malfoy, “But I specialize in extremes mainly, which also happen to be in America a lot of the time.” Harry paused for a moment, trying to recall an outbreak of myth magic Draco might have heard about and therefore would impress upon him the breadth of Harry’s skill “Uh, you probably heard about Slenderman? In America?” Harry asked Draco. 

Draco nodded in reply, having heard about the lanky and murderous creature from his American counterpart

“Well, it took some doing but I finally sapped the damn thing of its magic. Took about 6 months because of bloody YouTube but I got the job done.” Harry said with a twinge of pride in his voice. The Slenderman case had been one of the most complicated he had ever experienced, but when he finally cracked it, damn, it was a rush that never ceased to please. 

“And how did you eliminate the creature?” Draco asked with a haughty passivity. 

“You can’t fire me you know, Kingsley called me in, so you can stop with this interview crap,” Harry spat, “And what about you, how do I know you’re going to be useful and not just some ministry lackey hanging around to make sure I don’t do anything untoward,” Harry says putting on his poshest accent for the last word. “Damn,” Harry thought to himself, “even after all this time, he’s still an absolute prat.”

“Well because that isn’t my area of specialization. In my tenure I have completely overhauled the warding system used to keep muggles from the wizarding world as well as keep them safe from it. I have also vastly increased and improved accessibility to the muggle world for witches and wizards, ensuring the transition from our world to the other is as seamless as possible. I have learned that its much easier for us to know the muggle world when we are not constantly afraid of arrest or inquiry.” Draco said. 

“What does that even mean?” Harry asked with narrow eyes. 

“Well, I’ve innovated upon the muggle repelling charm to make it more targeted to specific entries and exits to buildings as opposed to entire blocks and amended certain glamours so that all of wizarding London no longer looks like abandon shops and warehouses, they now look like shops each individual would never care to enter based on their own personality. That one was a particular achievement if I do say. I also created charms and glamours that transform witches and wizards robes into muggle attire without them having to know what exactly to transfigure their clothes into,” Draco knew he was babbling but he couldn’t stop himself, “No more swimming costumes and tutus thank god. Most other countries have a healthy and somewhat symbiotic relationship with the non-magical people of their land and I felt it was important for Britain to follow suit. Of course I haven’t been involved in such ground work in a while as I now oversee the office charged with maintaining the Statute which consists of a lot of meetings and conferences.” At this point Draco left his seat to walk to the kitchen and make himself a cup of tea if only to shut himself up for a moment. 

“Oh” was all Harry could muster.

“What a piercing bit of analysis, Potter. So I am sure that my warding and charms abilities will come in quite handy,” Draco said as he glided from the kitchen, cup of tea in hand, and chin slightly lifted. He returned to his seat and pushed himself back a bit, and placing his left ankle on his right knee. He needed to appear relaxed, in control, hiding the utter shit storm that was occurring in his mind, stomach and pants at the moment. 

Draco stirred his tea for a few moments, waiting for Harry to say something and trying to think of what to say next. After a lengthy silence Draco said, “Well? You’re the expert here, where should we start?” with wide eyes. 

“I was just waiting to see if you had stepped off your high horse and returned to earth with us mere mortals,” Harry retorted with a patronizing gaze. 

Draco rolled his eyes, gesturing his hand as though to say ‘get on with it’. 

“In terms of equipment, I’ll have everything we’ll need, just bring whatever you want to. And I’d bring a broom as well,” Harry said. 

“Alright, that I can do. I’ll also bring a small potions kit, I’ve found it never hurts to be a bit over prepared,” Draco added. 

“Sure, why not,” Harry mumbled, his voice this with condisention. 

“In addition to my charms proficiency, I am also one of the most well practiced potions Masters in England so you’ll excuse me if I don’t entirely trust your stores!” Draco said in a deep and sound drawl. 

The two men found themselves in silence, unsure of how to proceed. Draco desperately wanted to ask Harry what is plan was, as he was unsure of how to really begin tackling myth magic. And Harry wanted to ask Draco what he thought the best way of dealing with the muggle town and the wards would be, but couldn’t muster the humility needed to start the conversation. Both men wanted the upper hand, falling so quickly into their boyhood roles, yet they were both unsure of how to treat the other as a grown man. The fervor of their feelings towards one another had ignited just as it was in Hogwarts. Now, however, it was not the unruly flame of boyhood but a controlled and directed pillar of blue hot heat. 

Draco was the first to break the tension, deciding to take a more affable approach, “I’ve already had one of my researchers pull the ward histories from the archives, I’ll be spending the day working through them. I also thought we could ask the Office of Magical Genealogy to look into the Pendragon line, see what the bloodline has gotten up to in recent decades. I know that some myth magic can be sparked accidentally by the descendants of the protagonist, if you will,” Draco added, feeling confident in his contribution. 

Harry nodded. Harry hadn’t thought much about how he would spend his day. There was never much preparation that went into a mission, all of his work was done in the field, his actions spurred by instinct and necessity. 

“We’re just going to jump into this and allow the winds to carry us, aren’t we,” Draco said, defeated and resigned to his fate. He was going to have to work with the fit lug before him, perhaps this could be less tense than he thought it needed to be. 

“Ha, yeah, kind of, its how I work,” Harry added with a surprising chortled. 

“So not much has changed in all of these years. I, however, believe knowledge is the greatest weapon against the unknown, so if you don’t mind…” Draco said, motioning to the door. 

“We’ll leave tomorrow from Kingsley’s study at 5am, I want to get there at first light,” Harry said as he stood. 

“Why Kingsley’s office? Why not the apparition point that early in the morning?” Draco asked curtly.

Harry had an answer but was unsure of exactly how to answer it. Myth magic was a deeply unpredictable and sentimental kind of magic. It was tied to emotion, to time and place, to memory and to belief. Anything that could tie Harry to his physical reality, his lived reality, made it easier to unravel the magic and stay removed from it. That was partly the reason he always stayed in his tent, ensuring he didn’t become to entwined with the physical and emotional space the myth was inhabiting. He felt that leaving from Kingsley’s office, a safe and separate place from the mythos of the Welsh Castle, a place that was personal and inhabited by someone Harry knew and cared for, would be the first step in ensuring he did not become entangled with the magic. How was he to explain something so innate and so personal to the ice prince that stood before him?

“Its important for us to root ourselves in this life, in this world, before we begin to work within the myth magic. Actually, there is something else I should probably say,” Harry returned to the seat in front of Malfoy’s desk, “its important that you come into this with a reminder of your life outside of this particular mission. Bring photos, ensure you Phloon or write to your friends, whatever will remind you of this life. I’m not used to working with a partner so I’m not sure how that would affect this, but myth magic has a way of…enveloping you. So its important to have reminders of who and what you are.” Harry said seriously. 

“I’ve never read about that aspect of the magic,” Draco said, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah, I only started realizing it after a few years. I would leave missions and feel as though I had woken up from a lucid dream. Only once I started talking to Ron and Hermione more regularly and having them visit, and I stopped staying in hotels and eating in places near where I was working did the haze go away. You have to be really firm in who you are,” Harry said, maintaining a death grip on the eye contact with Malfoy, “or at least separate from where you are.”

Harry rose once more, walking towards the exit, “See you at 5,” and with that Harry shut the door and headed to Kingsley’s study. 

~*~

While Draco spent the day reading through the ward registry and attempting to organize the absolute nonsense that was the Pendragon family tree, Harry headed for the Burrow. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable, he would have to go and see Molly and Arthur and he desperately wanted to. But his heart ached and his stomach turned with the thought of having to see the place that had once felt like home, the place that was filled with so much mourning when he left. 

Not that Harry was every truly concerned, but his heart calmed just a bit when he realized he was indeed still a part of the Burrow’s wards. Just as that truth sunk in, he was embarrassed to think that Molly or Arthur would ever consider such a measure. He knew this was as much his home as Ron or Rose or Charlie’s. He walked towards the towering and inviting house, smelling the crisp country air, the chicken coop, and Molly’s cinnamon rolls. The garden was still a mish mosh of boots and gnomes and brooms, ensuring no one who walked through the gates would think for a moment this house was not filled to the brim with a boisterous and laughing family. But what Harry saw was the place where Kingsley’s patrons had warned them of death eaters and the spot where long tables were set out for supper because it was too dangerous to be anywhere else. The Burrow was still a sanctuary in Harry’s mind, a sanctuary from the evil that laid beyond its boundaries. He should be feeling relaxed and happy, his family just beyond this door, but his instinct to run and hide was slowly creeping in. Before he could talk himself into running away and apparating to literally anywhere else, he shoved the door open. 

“Arthur are you finally done in that blasting-Harry!” Molly shouted once she realized the man in her doorway was not her husband. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you alright?” she cried as she made her way over to Harry, examining his “far too skinny, you’re not feeding yourself!” body and giving him a hug. This is what Harry always realized he missed whenever he saw Molly, her hugs. Every time she hugged him, it was as if Lily were. Harry always forgot that Molly had known Lily, they had been in the Order together. Molly would have known how afraid Lily was for Harry, how fiercely she protected him. Molly would have helped Lily with cooking and tidying up around the house, giving her old things of her boys. Lily would have looked up to her and Arthur, the way they were raising their children in the midst of chaos, with constant love and courage. Both women would have known the Order would look after their families if anything were to happen because they were in so many ways the closest family any of them ha ever known. Each time Molly hugged Harry, she was giving him a hug from the mother she knew so well just as she would have known Lily to do to her boys. 

Harry was unceremoniously plopped into a chair and before he could properly scoot in, there was an entire spread before him. Crispy bacon, a stack of buttery french toast, friend eggs, normal toast for some reason, pumpkin and orange juice, and Molly’s famous spiced coffee. Harry’s appetite had only gotten worse since he started work as a myth hunter. Sometimes going for days without a proper meal and constantly climbing and running and casting, the man could eat. As he started on his stack of french toast, Arthur came into the kitchen, presumably from this “blasting shed” filled with his lovely muggle trinkets. 

“What in Godric’s name is Harry Potter doing in my kitchen?” Arthur said was a hearty laugh as he walked over to Harry and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Arthur sat next to him and began to eat breakfast as well, Molly set a steaming cup of coffee in front of him and herself. 

“Now Harry, what are you doing here? Is everything alright? I never thought I’d see the day that you’d be bag in England,” Molly asked with an airy chortle. 

“Well, Kings asked me to come back. To consult. And before you ask, I can’t say anything more. I’m sorry but Ministers orders,” Harry says with an eye roll and a tight smile. 

“Of course dear. If its anything important Kingsley will tell us. Don’t worry about it right now, have some more eggs, dear,” Molly said as she refilled Harry’s now empty plate. 

“Anything on the agenda today, Harry? I have some excellent microwaves in the shed that need a diagnostic!’ Arthur said with his classic enthusiasm. 

“Sorry, Arthur, I need to look over my pack, make sure everything is sorted. And I was wondering if I might be able to bring Teddy by for dinner? I haven’t seen him since the summer hols, thought I could nip over to Hogwarts and fetch him for a bit?” Harry asked. 

“Well of course dear, he’d he almost as much as the rest of my children!” Molly said, “So I’m sure Ron and Hermione and the children will be over as well. George and Angelina too then or-have you told them you’re here yet?” Harry shook his head no, “Nevermind, I’ll just send a few quick owls. How long are you here darling?” Molly asked, the expectation creeping into her voice. Just like Harry, Molly’s wartime worrying never completely went away. 

“Just tonight, I leave tomorrow morning. Shouldn’t be gone for more than a week or two and since I’m already here I’ll stay a visit for a bit,” Harry said. 

“Lovely, dear. I missed seeing you at the table,” Molly said, shadows of tears welling in her eyes. 

~*~

Draco lay in his bed, unable to find a suitable position for sleep and replaying his day on his mind’s eye. He had spend the day in his office going over the ward histories of Pendragon and found them concerningly devoid of any useful information. Every few years a preservationist from Opus would reset the glamours and charms that kept the more obvious magic parts of the structures from muggles as well as reset the charms that ensured no muggle could actually walk in the structure. The officer who had done it last was Culcon, one of Draco’s younger preservationists but he was good at his work and an honest man, Draco trusted that this work had been done well. It appeared that the building itself also had established some wards in order to protect itself and its secrets, and most likely the secrets of its original occupants. Draco had no idea what to expect from those. 

Around 7pm, Draco gave up on the stack of papers before him, organized them into their original state and shrunk them down to fit in his briefcase. He got out of his chair and went to his bookcase, searching for the most useful volumes he could find. He picked up a few on ward settings, one on sentient building, the single book on the market that a discussed myth magic, and finally The Once and Future King, a children’s novel he had Lena owl order from Diagon. He felt in no way prepared for this mission, even though he hated using that particular word, but he knew he had all of the information he’d ever have and therefore had to just accept the uncertainty. 

He had warded his desk draws so that only Lena could open them, he warded his kitchen to the hilt in case someone else walked into his office and was able to mentally rip apart some of the strongest wards he had ever set. “The Golden Boy never ceases to amaze” Draco said derisively as he finished up the wards. He flicked his wand to turn off the lights and put out the fire. It had been a lovely, crisp London day and he wanted to enjoy the London evening one more time before he went into the elements. 

Draco arrived at his flat, wards wrapping around his hand as he went to open the door. He put his briefcase away, put his shoes in their proper cubby, and surveyed his flat, not that anything had changed in the last 15 hours. He knew he would have to pack, he knew he had to speak with Eli, but god did he not want to. With mounting anxiety, Draco pulled out his wand and Phlooned Eli. After 2 bells, Eli’s face appeared in the flames coming form Draco’s wand. 

“Hold on!” Eli yelled over the screeching in the background, his face leaving the flame for a few moments, “Sorry, just wanted to step out, theres a witch in here with a Racous Rash and it will not shut the fuck up.” he added with a giggle. 

“That sounds absolutely horrid, I want no further discussion of something so rank between the two of us,” Drago added with a laugh, “I have a few things I need to do but would you be able to come by around 10?”

“Yeah, is everything alright?” Eli asked, the concern obvious as his brows drew together on his forehead. 

“Of course, I have to go on a work trip and I have no idea how long it will take so I wanted to see you before I leave,” Draco said, trying to keep his face as soft as possible.

“Oh, alright, where to this time?” Eli asked. 

“We can talk about it tonight, I’ll have dinner for you,” Draco added. 

“Okay, bye love, see you at 10,” Eli said just before the flame extinguished. 

It was about 8pm when Draco began packing. The clothing had been easy. That morning Draco realized with startling surprise that he owned nothing “casual” or “outdoorsy” as Lena had phrased it. So in addition to the book, Draco had asked Lena to order some more appropriate clothing for this particular outing, surely suits and woolen trousers wouldn’t be the best attire. He took the clothes out of the shopping bags that had been deposited in his bedroom and placed them in a traveling bag. He was happy with what the shop assistant had picked out, dark greens and navy blues, lots of warm looking sweaters and casual jeans that only slightly offended Draco’s sensibilities. He left one outfit out on the bed for tomorrow morning, along with the coat, gloves, hat, and boots that looked more outdoorsy than his knee length wool coat and Burberry scarf and gloves. The clothing, however, was the easy part. 

Draco had been able to set it out of his mind all day because compartmentalization was a skill that had been drilled into him since his days in nappies, but the door to that part of his brain suddenly swung wide open. He sat on the floor of his room, back against the side of his bed. What the fuck had Harry meant about needing something to remind him of who he was? Was the fading mark on Draco’s forearm not enough? How could Draco ever forget who he was? But the instruction also disturbed Draco for an unrelated reason-he could not figure out what aspects of his life reminded him of who he was. His work and his friends and Eli defined him more than the other way round. 

“What about my flat. I chose this place, I made it my own.” Draco proclaim to his wall. But even his flat had been a place that held such meaning for Draco and felt so at home because it wasn’t the Manor, it hadn’t been a place of darkness and death. It was defined by what it was not rather than what it is. 

“But surely that must be okay,” Draco said very quietly, “I knew how I didn’t want my life to look. You’re being ridiculous.”

He sat in silence for a long time, trying to figure out what reminded Draco most of who he was. He kept coming back to one thing, the one thing he really did not want to dig up and the one thing he never wanted to bring around Harry Potter. But it was the one thing that he knew would be full proof, even mores than a call to Pansy or Eli or his house plants or his favorite tea. Draco got up from his spot on the floor and went into his closet. In the very back, behind boxes of old shoes he had been meaning to donate, in a warded wooden box that had been his mother’s, were his notebooks. These pages reminded Draco most of who he is. Not even who he was, but who he is. His actions were horrible, he had hurt so many people, but he had done it for people he loved. He resisted his overwhelming fear of the Dark Lord in order to keep his mother and father safe. He could have run away, he could have joined the Order, Dumbledore had offered him as much, but he knew it would mean his mother and father’s death. He had to be brave. And that bravery is what allowed him to keep moving through the world. 

He took the box from its hiding place, shrunk it down, and placed it in his satchel. That was going to have to be enough. 

By 10 o’clock, Draco was sprawled out on his couch, waiting for Eli. He had finished packing, showered, and ordered Eli’s favorite Thai that was now sitting on the coffee table under a warming charm. The book he was attempting to read was splayed across his chest, having been abandoned in favor of the art of staring into the abyss. Draco could not quiet the tornado of thoughts involving Potter, Merlin, and talking castles. 

“Earth to Draco, come in Draco,” he heard from what seemed like literal space. Draco blinked a few times and turned his head towards the fire place where he saw Eli taking his boots off and dusting off the remnants of floo powder. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear the floo chime,” Draco said as he tilted his head upwards to meet Eli, who placed a soft kiss on the side of Draco’s mouth. Eli’s avoidance of full mouth kissing except when in bed was one of those odd little bits that you just get used to when you’ve been with a person for so long, despite the fact that it drives you a bit mad. Draco had long ago given up the hope of breaking that particular habit. 

“How was work? Did that gastly rash ever shut up?” Draco asked as he moved his legs to make room for Eli on the couch. 

“Nah *chomp* we just put a really heavy *chomp* silencing charm over the poor bird,” Eli said between ginormous bites of his dinner. 

“You disgust me in ways that I can barely comprehend, please desist with the talking while you are inhaling enough food for three people,” Draco demanded with a scrunch of his nose. 

“You *slurp* find me delightful. Now tell me where you’re off to this time while I finish inhaling,” Eli said with heavy emphasis and an eye roll. 

It took every ounce of cunning and Lucius still within Draco to keep his Malfoy Mask of Placidity on his face while he allowed the next few words to fall from his mouth. He had gotten so bad at lying to people he cared about, which usually was something he noticed with pride. But right now, he needed to lie because he cared. Goddamn Potter. 

“Well, I can’t actually tell you. This is an assignment directly from the Minister and I’ve taken a Vow of Secrecy.” Draco sealed his lips and breathed out, hoping this would be enough to cause his face to go a bit red and his eyes to buldge a bit, giving the impression that he was pressing upon the boundaries of the Vow he had supposedly taken just a few hours earlier. Eli knew enough about treating broken vows to know the signs of one broaching the line of breaking. 

“Oh my, well don’t hurt yourself love, I know you hate taking those, you’ve always been so bad at hiding things from me,”Eli said with a laugh,” just promise you’ll actually write and Phloon this time. The last two times we went like 9 days without speaking, and you know the family is visiting next week. I don’t want them to think I’ve made you up.”

Oh fuck fuck fuck, Draco thought to himself. He had totally forgotten Eli’s family would be visiting next week. And while he had met them all once or twice, he had never spent anytime with all of them at once. This had been a big weekend for Eli and Draco was running of with Potter of all people. 

“I know, I really am sorry, I tried to get out of it but I was the only one qualified.” This time, he didn’t have to fake the flush and the heavy breathing, Draco’s nerves were getting the best of him.

“Hey, hey, calm down, I know you’d never leave me unless you really had to,” Eli soothed as he scooted closer to Draco, placing his hand on Draco’s cheek, “I always thought I’d be the one having to skive off plans since I’m the Healer, but its just my luck I love the one person who has a more involved job than me.” Eli leaned in, placing his other hand on Draco’s face and pulled the two together, kissing Draco square on the mouth. This usually made Draco melt into what ever surface was behind him, or that one time when he literally just fell backwards from shock, because it happened so rarely outside of a bed, but this time he barely registered the feeling of Eli’s lips against his own. Draco wasn’t nervous, he was actually quite excited, and that excitement had very little to do with Eli. 

Eli had wanted to stay over, and Draco didn’t give it more than a few moments consideration before he declined, saying he had to leave at 4am the next morning. Draco pulled Eli into a long hug, trying with all of his might to find the easy respite he usually found in Eli’s arms. He eventually relaxed, allowing his full body weight to fall against Eli’s. After what felt like an hour, Eli kissed Draco’s forehead and stepped into the floo. Draco had never been so relieved to be alone but he didn’t feel he had the mental space to wade through what had just occurred between him and the man that had shared so much of his life in the past few years. So instead he just laid in bed, moving from one side to another, replaying the scene over and over trying not to consider the fact that his life was slowing slipping away from him. 

Across London, unbeknownst to Draco, Harry was having a similarly disarming bout of tossing and turning. After breakfast with Molly and Arthur, Harry had flood to Hogwarts to fetch Teddy for the day. It was so rare that Harry got to see Teddy, in person, not more than once or twice a year, he was willing to play the “Savior” card to get his godson out of class for the day. He flood directly into Headmistresses McGonangal’s office as they had floo called every so often when Harry was particularly stuck on a case or needed some sage Minny Missives. While she was shocked and alarmed at his appearance, she acquiesced and sent a patronus for Teddy to be let go early from potions. 

McGonagall obviously had not put the reason for the request into her message, as Teddy was shocked to see his godfather standing in the Head Mistresses office. The moment he saw Harry, his hair turned from purple to jet black and his face morphed from abject concern to pure joy. Teddy ran across the room and flung himself into his Godfather, nearly knocking Harry over in the process. What Harry thought would be a happy and boisterous reunion turned into a deep and pressing silence. Teddy was still holding onto Harry with a crushing intensity that concerned Harry (was it normal for a teenager to show anyone this much emotion?) and without breaking the vice-like grip, Harry has asked as softly as possible, “What’s wrong, bumblebee? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

At those words, Teddy tilted his head upwards, showing Harry the glean of tears in his eyes, “But you’ve not been back in England since Mum and Dad died, what happened?” and then his hug only got tighter. 

“Oh no, no, no, no one has died, I’m here for work! I thought we could bunk and go flying and then to the Weasley’s for supper?” Harry said, trying to coax Teddy’s head upwards again. 

“Do you promise?” Teddy asked, his voice cracking slightly as he looked up at his Godfather again. Harry hadn’t seen Teddy this upset since his first year at Hogwarts. He had Phlooned Harry the night before he was to go to Kings Cross and begged him to come and see him off. But Harry was in the middle of a very dangerous case involving these wild creatures called teletubbies in the middle of the Canadian Tundra and couldn’t get back to England, though he arranged a private floo call for himself and Teddy after everyone had gone to sleep that night so he could hear all about how his Godson had been sorted into Hufflepuff. And with that news he was quite happy he was thousands of miles away, it was just far enough that he could mask his chortled as a cough. What Harry realized now, though, was that he easily could have come back to England for his Godson, he could do it in a moment if Teddy were in mortal peril, he just hadn’t been brave enough to actually do it. 

After the most competitive seeker’s game he had played in awhile, he and Teddy landed and made their way back to the Burrow which was bursting at the seams with Weasleys. Molly had called over the entire brood, saying it was of the utmost importance they all attend supper tonight, and no she will not tell them why, and yes you will come because I am your mother and have raised you to mind me! So when Harry walked in after Teddy, the entire house shook with shrieks and shock. Rosie and Hugo ran to him immediately, more excited to see Teddy than Harry at this point. Harry saw George, standing in still shock across the room, only coming out of it with a firm shake from Angelina. Bill and Charlie stopped their game of chess to give Harry a hug. Percy gave him a very Percy greeting of a firm handshake and curt nod, while Ginny began to punch Harry in the arm for “giving me a fright like that” amidst Neville’s punctuating sobs of glee. Hermione and Ron moved towards Teddy, hugging him and asking if he was alright, Hermione had an unshakable sense of when something was wrong and upon Teddy’s lack of an answer, immediately enveloped him in a hug, rubbing circles on his back. Harry witnessed this from across the room, turning his attention away from Rosie and Hugo for a moment. Harry knew Teddy thought of Ron and Hermione as another set of surrogate parents, but in that moment Hermione and Ron transformed into Molly and Arthur, while Harry knew he had began to resemble Sirius in ways he did not all together like. 

It had been a wonderful night, the likes of which Harry had not experience in well…ever. Everyone he loved in one room, eating Molly’s delicious cooking, chatting as if this were the most normal night in the world. But Harry felt the hum of magic around him, it settled like the first snow, so welcomed but still unfamiliar. Everyone was beyond thrilled to see him and had asked him questions about why he was here and for how long and did you ever figure out that thing that you were working on six months ago. And it was lovely to be surrounded by the noises of laughter and children and clanking dishes, but he also didn’t understand a lot of the conversation. Percy was discussing the cases he had before the Wizengamot, and it was obviously not the first time as he jumped right into some argument with Hermione that Harry just could not follow. And Fleur was talking with Molly and Ginny about Victoire’s schooling at Beaxbatons, Ron and George and Bill and Charlie were discussing their progress on a charm for a new product line of self-run housewares which was too complicated for Harry to understand. And Teddy had taken Rosie and Hugo upstairs to get ready for bed, apparently whenever he was home from Hogwarts, he would stay with Ron and Hermione most nights because Andromeda had moved to France to be closer to Narcissa and Teddy had become the Chief Inspector of Underneath Beds and held a duel office in Story Reading. He was happy to sit and soak in the love that surrounded him, but he was very much outside of it, which he had become quite used to. 

After an hour of goodbyes and promises to return to the Burrow before he left again, he brought Teddy back to Hogwarts. But instead of flowing directly into McGonagall’s office, he apparated them to the gates so they could walk up to the Castle doors. 

“Bumblebee?” Harry said. 

“Yessssssss?” Teddy answered with wide eyes and a big smile.

“Does it bother you that I don’t live here?” Harry asked, barely able to look at his godson. 

“It used to, back before I came to Hogwarts” Teddy began, and sucking in a huge gust of air, bracing for the words that would follow, “but Aunt Hermione explained why you don’t live here. I know you would if you could.”

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned to face Teddy, mustering all the courage he could find. 

“What did Aunt Hermione say to you?”

“That living here made you too sad, that it reminded you of the war and your parents,” Teddy turned his eyes to the ground, “and my parents” he added in a whisper that was punctuated by sniffles, “and that you can love me just as much even when you aren’t here,” Teddy took a long moment to compose himself, obviously wanting to appear like a grown adult in front of Harry, “and its doesn’t bother me anymore. I’m just not used to thinking about you as, like, part of my normal day so it just freaked me a bit when I saw you today. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just always see you on holiday or on the Phloon or in letters.”

“You didn’t, bug, I was just wondering. I worry about you, you know,” Harry said as he put his arm around Teddy’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Teddy said as he let himself be hugged tighter.

Harry was now laying in bed in Ron and Hermione’s spare room, trying to get comfortable in a room that had an actual foundation and that contained other people. Harry knew he would come back to England to find the Weasley’s settled into their lives, he heard about them all the time in letters and Phloon calls. But he hadn’t expected Teddy to react the way he did. Rosie and Hugo had their parents and the Weasley’s, Harry was just their fun Uncle. But Harry had seemed to forget that he was Teddy’s guardian, he was meant to look out for him, not just love him. 

Sleep eventually came to the two men. Both had dreams of dragons and home, though neither remembered in the morning.


End file.
